


Be Kind

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anthro, Bond didn't know he wanted Q until this happened, Bond is now very confused and is in desperate need of post-coital cuddles, Human, M/M, Masturbation, Q doesn't have any idea what happened, Smut, Tentacle, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world wasn’t the same anymore. Changes had been made... James Bond was of the old world order. He may prefer the old, simple days, but there was something to say about the evolution of technology...the simplicity in which he could end someone’s life with the gentle press of poison-stained fingertips.</p><p>And less importantly, though really this may as well been the most important part, James Bond could appreciate the addition of the new Kind to the world.</p><p>MI6’s new Quartermaster was one such example of the rare and indescribable beauty of the new Kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hildy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hildy/gifts).



> Unbeta'd, written within three hours of starting in one tangent. Only minor editing made before being posted though I may do more later on. Obviously not for profit.
> 
> Be wary of the gay, blah, blah blah, blah blah.
> 
> Aaaaand on with the smut!

The world wasn’t the same anymore. Changes had been made; some consciously and with great effort, others so subtle that only now, decades after the first wisp of a thought, are becoming apparent. James Bond was of the old world order. He preferred clean cut lines and rigid sets of rules. He preferred them because having a stable set of boundaries meant he knew how to maneuver around them. But this new world...he wasn’t sure...there was too much he didn’t know, didn’t understand, and that grated on him something awful. Being one of the old breed he was stubborn, well, he was stubborn regardless but his harsh upbringing made his reluctance to change even more prominent.

He liked the old days. He liked being sent out into the field with a gun and whatever gadget had been cooked up for him (how he missed the exploding pens, but alas). There was something about being relied upon for the dirty work. If an enemy insurgent's neck needed to be snapped, information stolen, or governments thrown into chaos; Bond was your man. He was your go-to agent if it meant seducing someone’s wife, daughter, grandmother or (in a handful of cases) the son, husband, or father of a target to gain information. Bond was flexible in many ways; it was why he was still alive when so many others simply weren’t. He may have prefered the old, simple days, but there _was_ something to say about the evolution of technology. He could appreciate the ease in which he could now track targets and carry slim lined weaponry. Never before had his career in espionage been so easy, yet dangerous.

And less importantly, though really this may as well been the most important part in how the evolution of things was growing on him like a fungus; James Bond could appreciate the addition of the new Kind to the world.

The new Kind were...new...not human, not exactly. As far as anyone could tell, the Kind were simply the next step in evolution. No human tampering had created them: no lab experiments, genetic engineering, etcetera, etcetera. The new Kind had just one day been _there._ They weren’t wholly human in looks, heavens no, but aside from a few more dominant animal instincts they thought the same as any human. Pack mechanics, dominant and submissive tendencies, monogamy, promiscuity, scenting, and possessiveness; all were basic human traits that in the Kind became hyper-prominent.

Most of the Kind could liken their altered species to a known animal, not all but most. It made explaining physical characteristics that much easier if there was an example to pull from. But some...they were a different strain. Some couldn’t explain. They simply _were_ ; no questions to be asked because there were no answers to give.

MI6’s new Quartermaster was one such example of the rare and indescribable beauty of the Kind.

Q, as Bond knew him because the young man refused to share his birth name, was a variety of Kind that hadn’t ever been seen before. He was slim but not frail, long legged but not gangly. His hands were dextrous and  long-fingered but without being spindly. His hair was inky blue-black, eyes vaguely almond shaped and so _green_ that more than once Bond had found himself lost in the swirling depths of Q’s irises. The vertically slit pupils did delicious things to Bond’s spine, though the wet _flick flick_ of Q’s double eyelids gave him shivers of another, uncomfortable variety. What set Q apart was what made him so captivating. He didn’t match any known type of Kind and while he could confirm that his parents were not in fact reptilian or vaguely aquatic, there was still a generous amount of speculation.

Q was nearly the same height as Bond, possibly an inch or two shorter. His arms were slim and at first glance looked easily broken, like the rest of him. What set the new Quartermaster apart from both humans and Kind were the four sets of tentacles that trailed behind him. They began at his spine just below the knob above his shoulder blades, and ended just before his lower back, leaving an expanse of bluish-purple tinged skin that looked too smooth to be human. Most of Q was pinkish, a shade similar to the pale Caucasian colouring indicative of a fairly sunless Englander. But parts of him, like the back of his neck and the very corner of his jaw below his ears matched the eight extra appendages that marked him as Kind. No one had been able to pin down exactly what colour Q’s tentacles were; the flesh, glossy without being slimy, flickered between delicate shades of violet, emerald, and a very light teal that bordered on sky blue.

He didn’t use his appendages in public, at least not often. While Q had one of the better poker-faces Bond had seen in his years as a double-oh, the telltale twitch and sway of his extra appendages would always give the lithe young man away. Bond made no comment regardless, content with their purely professional relationship; sometimes punctuated by dry wit and sly remarks. Bond would receive his kit and instructions for a mission, thank his Quartermaster genially if distantly, and then return what was left, and leave the same way he’d come.

It took one instance, a year into knowing each other after the _Skyfall_ incident that Bond’s perception of their professional dynamic had reason to shift. And shift it did, so quickly and with such violent, dirty, _aching_ intensity that he was torn between scrubbing his body and mind clean afterwards or opening himself wide to beg for more.

As usual Bond reported into Q-branch several hours after returning to England. Most of his kit had survived the mission and, feeling rather pleased with himself, Bond intended to shock his Quartermaster by returning the pieces directly into Q’s hands. Sadly, he hadn’t the time to shower or change after returning home. His debrief had taken longer than usual due to the death of his target (not Bond’s fault, the idiot had decided that saving his prized Pomeranian was more important than escaping a collapsing building). He’d gone to medical and patiently (for a double-oh) let them poke and prod at his body. Pictures were taken, samples scratched away, and wounds sewn shut before they all but tossed him from the ward and out of their hair. As such, he was still dressed in his torn dress shirt and dirty slacks, the buttons on his shirt having been ripped off due to both the ministrations of an over-enthusiastic lover and later on by an enemy agent trying to drag him off the edge of a building.

And Bond had liked this shirt.

He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair checked his face in a darkened window to make sure he’d gotten the majority of the soot, and stalked into Q-branch. Right away heads snapped up, noses twitching and ears swivelling from behind computer monitors and mass produced desks. While entirely base human, Bond had been told more than once by Kind coworkers that he smelled... _different_...dangerous, violent, and in one instance, _exquisite_. Bond wasn’t about to argue. He noticed the appreciation aimed his way from around the room but only absently. He only had eyes for the Quartermaster.

As such, James didn’t miss the stiffening of Q’s spine, the way his head tilted up and to attention. Neither did he miss how the Quartermaster’s extra appendages jerked and quivered before twisting into a complicated braid against his back.

Bond could watch those tentacles move for hours, but that was beside the point.

He stalked through the aisles between the desks of Q-branch to stand behind Q, slightly to the right so he could peer over the younger man’s shoulder without having to come around the side. Even wrapped tightly in their braid he could see the flutter in the tentacles; the subtle twitch, squeeze, and curl that made something low in Bond’s abdomen tighten, heat growing. He planted his feet and leaned forward slightly so that his lips, thin and pale when compared to Q’s plump mouth, all but grazed the slightly pointed shell of his Quartermaster’s ear.

“I come bearing gifts, _Quartermaster_.” Bond didn’t miss the shiver that went through Q; a bristling of his hair and the clench of eight extra appendages. James absently wondered if it was his tone, his closeness, his scent, the brush of his breath across the slightly bluish purple marks that dotted Q’s ear like freckles, or Q’s designation, whispered in a way that couldn’t be anything but pure velvet. Q most certainly swallowed, thickly, before carefully stepping forward and away so that he could turn to meet Bond’s gaze.

“Double-Oh-Seven, good to know that you made it back to England in,” he paused, eyes flicking down to the ripped, open front of Bond’s shirt before back up to meet his eyes. If Bond wasn’t mistaken the barest hint of purple was beginning to creep over Q’s cheekbones. “In one piece..” The double-oh could just see the barest hint of Q’s tongue pressed from between his lips.

James chuckled, “I do try, Quartermaster.” He spoke in a more professional tone this time, though the words retained some heat. “And this time I even made an effort to bring back some of your gifts to me.” Bond reached behind him and removed his personalized Walther from its back holster. He leant back into Q’s personal space, the younger man unable to move as his desk was already pressing into the backs of his thighs, and set the barely scratched gun onto the wooden surface. Arctic blue eyes flicked up and met vibrant emerald, slit pupils widening until only a ring of pale green remained. Bond pulled back though he didn’t break eye contact with Q, the other man refusing to blink. Bond slid one calloused hand into his pocket and curled around two small plastic pieces. The agent pulled his hand free, stretched out his arm, palm up, and presented to Q a battered earpiece and a slightly singed USB. “Satisfactory?”

Q took a moment more to hold Bond’s gaze before dropping his eyes to the handful of tech that likely cost more than the average student spent on tuition for a five-year degree. Q blinked. He blinked and didn’t move, didn’t speak. He blinked again. It took him long enough to move that James considered that he may have actually broken his Quartermaster. Luckily he hadn’t, Q gently removed the tech from Bond’s scarred palm and without turning reached back and set the pieces gently onto the tabletop beside Bond’s Walther. The depth of Q’s next breath brought James’ attention to the generous amount of bared skin at his Quartermaster’s throat. Q still wore his customary cardigan, a dark burgundy material this time with a crisp black shirt beneath, but lacked his usual tie, having instead chosen to leave his collar open. This, of course, bared a tantalizing few inches of pale collarbone.

Bond distractedly wondered what Q’s flesh would taste like.

“Thank you, Double-Oh-Seven, that is all.”

Bond’s eyes snapped back up from where they’d drifted to the sharp edges of the younger man’s collarbone. The purple flush had deepened, though it only coloured the edges of his hairline near his ears. Bond shouldn’t, but he wondered how far that flush would reach in he pushed, just a little.

“What, no congratulations? No pat on the back, no ‘good job Bond!’?” James smirked slightly, knowing that no such thing would ever happen.

 

Q proved the agent correct by rolling his eyes and huffing. “Bond, the day you come back to Q-branch with _everything_ I send you into the field with will be the day I congratulate you on anything more than being a right pain in my arse.”

“That’s a shame, though please tell me that I’m at least your _favourite_ pain in the arse.”

Q glared at him from behind his thick framed glasses. “Right now it’s a possibility, though Double-Oh-Six seems to be jockeying for first place.”

One pale eyebrow twitched up, “Oh? How so?” Alec was forever getting in trouble, sometimes worse than James; they often made a game of it, ‘who can blow up the most cars, rack up the most property damage, or sleep with the most femme fatales?’

Q scowled, “aside from getting caught with his trousers down in the bedroom of a Russian diplomat’s wife? Several things, I don’t honestly have the time to number them; I believe there’s a printed list somewhere though, should you like to examine it and _compare_.” The slight pursing of Q’s lips and the flicker of his pupils with his dry, sarcastic tone startled an amused bark from James.

Q jumped slightly and the double-oh smiled widely, only afterwards remember the deep split in his lower lip.

James hummed and lapped at the thick trail of blood welling from the cut, having to make several passes before he was confident he’d caught it all. Bond’s eyes went back to Q, noticing how the younger man’s pupils had contracted and were again beginning to blot out the green of his irises, focused as they were on James’ mouth. _Ah_ , he thought, feeling another bead of crimson gather on the injury and begin to trickle down to his chin. Q’s nostrils flared and the purple flush streaked across his cheekbones to settle under his eyes. Oh yes, he certainly had the Quartermaster’s attention now. Interested in seeing how far he could take this, James tugged at the inside of his lip, subtly pulling at the injury and increasing the blood flow until he felt one thick drop gathering at the point of his chin, nearly heavy enough to fall.

At that Q started and fumbled his hands in and out of his pockets, clutching a clean if wrinkled handkerchief; an honest to goodness handkerchief! Q flicked the rectangle of cloth open, a pristine white with embroidered red edging, and shakily raised it.

“Here, l-let me...” He gently dabbed at the trail of blood, smearing the thick droplet onto the white of the cloth where it spread like ink in water. Delicate fingers, shaking only slightly, swept up toward James’ mouth with only gentle pressure. Q spent a moment carefully dabbing at the trail before drawing away. He seemed unsure for a heartbeat before he tucked the bloody handkerchief back into his pocket as though nothing was amiss. He took a deep breath, “ah, good, there you are. On your way not Double-Oh-Seven; Miss Moneypenny asked that you visit her before heading out. Apparently she has something that belongs to you and would rather you take it home before she decides to give it to come unsuspecting homeless person.”

With a gentle hum and ‘good day, Quartermaster’ James turned on his toe and strode out of Q-branch. James was resolutely not thinking about the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers or how the flush across Q’s cheeks had darkened right before he’d sent James off. Maybe, after visiting Moneypenny of course, he would stop back in to visit with his Quartermaster. James smirked, maybe.

* * *

Coffee with Moneypenny took longer than Bond had expected, and it was nearly half nine when the two agents parted ways. Eve headed home while Bond made his way down to Q-branch. The skeleton staff there informed the double-oh that Q hadn’t yet left for the day, and if Bond truly needed to speak to the young Kind he would find Q in the work out rooms. Mildly surprised that Q would be found anywhere but his domain of computers and cables, Bond thanked the tech, a pretty young thing with curly hair and a small puff of a tail, and left. The walk from Q-branch to the gymnasium was quick, Bond making use of the stairs rather than wasting time on the elevators. Upon checking the track and weight rooms Bond concluded that Q must have hit the showers. Feeling that pleasurable tightening in his abdomen, Bond, now dressed in a clean shirt and trouser combination, padded into the tiled change room on near silent feet.

The showers were empty, though the tile beneath one faucet glistened, still spotted with the remains of soap froth. The lockers then, were where he would find Q. James stopped at the corner of the lockers, a sharp hiss raising gooseflesh along his arms and neck. The blonde cocked his head and listened.

Panting, quick and shallow followed by what could only be described as a plaintive _mewl_. Heat flared in Bond’s groin and his breath came quicker. _Oh,_ that _was unexpected...but who was he to complain._ Bond carefully padded closer until he could peer around the edge of the lockers. Several were open, remnants of previous agents making use of the facilities and being too lazy to clean up after themselves. The open doors were staggered and while giving James a perfectl view of his target, concealed him well enough.

Q sat on the bench between the rows of lockers; pale skin flushed dark blue and purple, tentacles writhing. The Quartermaster’s hands were braced on the metal bars beneath his body, hands white knuckled as they clenched tightly. The bars, while allowing adequate support for both human and Kind to sit on, were spaced nearly three inches apart. The bench had been intended for agents to settle duffels of work out clothing and damp towels on, allowing excess dirt and liquid to fall through and into the drains below. Now though, Q made use of that space for something entirely different.

His face, usually so pale and emotionless, was tilted upward, eyes screwed shut as he panted, lips parted obscenely. The purple flush, edged in a vibrant pale blue, came to sharp points on either side of Q’s nose, like the fine markings of a tiger. His cheeks were dusted in a lighter purple and his lips...

 _Oh those_ **lips**!

Bond had to fight back the hiss of pleasure watching Q’s mouth brought him. The plump lips were flushed and swollen, painted a dark purple-blue. The colour extended to Q’s tongue, which Bond noticed as the inhumanly long appendage crept from between Q’s parted lips to lap at the air. James promptly bit into his fist to keep from moaning.

Well, there went any semblance of professionalism.

Q had eight extra arms: eight beautifully coloured, sinfully flexible tentacles that Bond in this moment would have given anything to experience. Presently, the agent could account for two of them. Those two alternated between twining in the air around Q’s head, sometimes running through the thick blue-black waves of his hair, around his neck, and sometimes rubbing the tips of those tentacles on, around and _into_ his panting mouth. Bond was infinitely jealous, really. As James watched he became aware of the other appendages. He watched as two, the thicker pair that protruded from just below Q’s arms, trailed across the younger man’s chest. They had wide pads that he knew the Quartermaster sometimes used as a second set of hands; the pads clenching to create a vacuum of air to grip just about anything. Now though, they alternated between stroking over Q’s pebbled nipples, areola flushed purple and the nubs a jeweled green, and pulling with gentle suction. With each tug and ‘ _pop!’_ Bond’s cock jumped, egged on by Q’s moans that were becoming progressively broken.

James’ eyes roamed, finding the next set nestled between Q’s spread thighs, and _wow_ but was the boy flexible. His legs were open to a point that Bond tentatively considered to be a split. The creamy skin was pale, darkening on the outside of the muscled thighs and the heated flesh surrounding Q’s cock. One tentacle would stroke a line up the inside of his thigh only to wrap around the width of it and squeeze. These had the same pads as the larger set. This pair were slightly Skinner than the last and better suited for delicate work. They pulled at the flesh of Q’s taught belly, the prominently muscled ‘v’ of his abdomen, and the delicate skin of his thighs, leaving small flushed circles in their wake. As one would caress the skin of a thigh teasingly, the other tightened and curled, writhing and pulling at the length of Q’s cock.

James hadn’t ever been curious about Q’s dick before, but now seeing the length of it, he doubted that any other would be as tantalizing. Q's manhood was long and lean, like the rest of him. The root, nestled amongst a soft looking thatch of blue-black curls, was a dark purple that lightened into emerald and finally to the same royal blue that ringed Q’s ears. With each upward stroke the delicate green flesh would bunch, foreskin coming up to encase the pale, leaking tip, twisting tightly before slowly pulling back down to bare the mushroomed head.

Really, before now Bond hadn’t really been fond of any cock other than his own. The desire to nibble at the crest of that jewel coloured head was new and heady in the back of Bond’s mind, his tongue darting out to flick across the knuckles still encased in his teeth.

One particularly tight squeeze made Q yelp, drawing James’ attention back to the delicious young man spread unknowingly before him. Q shifted forward slightly, rolling his hips until his balls, a delicate mixture of teal and purple swirls that just begged to be licked, were pressed against the cool metal of the bench. He whimpered and pressed down and back, arse angled out a little more than it had been.

That’s when James noticed the last set of Q’s appendages.

These were the longest pair that Q possessed, capable of encircling the lithe man’s body at least twice and still having room to be useful. While not as thick as the second set that still caressed the Quartermaster’s flushed nipples, they were sizable in their own right. The pads on these were tiny though numerous and spanned the length of the appendages from spine to tip. Though at that moment Bond couldn’t see much of them and bit deeper into his hand to stifle the angry, wanting growl that threatened to break loose. Had he come from the opposite side he would of been in full view of the sinful things those tentacles were doing. Sure, he would have missed the show of Q’s limbs tugging away at his gorgeous cock, plucking at his nipples, and marking his thighs; but Bond was willing to go without if it meant a better look at what the last pair was doing.

The limbs retracted until they were all but removed, or at least that’s what Bond assumed had happened. And after a brief pause in which Q gulped in lungfuls of air they tensed and slammed back in. Bond tasted blood.

Q screamed.

Without ever touching his own cock Bond was ready to come. He didn’t care that filling his pants with was for teenagers with no restraint, all he cared for was the beautiful young man driving himself mad with pleasure just out of James’ reach. And _that_ was when the already possessed man became unable to look away.

Q paused in his ministrations again, tentacles once more withdrawing until they were writhing against his back, slick with viscous fluid though James hadn’t seen any containers of lubricant. The young Kind leant slightly to his right, away from James, snatched something from the pocket of his trousers, and leant back. He rolled his hips, cock bouncing and free of his torturous appendages and sucked in another deep breath. Clutched in his right hand was a familiar red stained handkerchief.

Bond just about came then and there, but snapped a hand down to squeeze viciously around the base of his cock through his trousers and pants. Not yet, no, Q wasn’t done yet and he’d be damned if he missed anything. Bond licked his bloody knuckles and shifted his teeth to a less marked part of his abused hand, readying himself.

For a moment all Q did was breathe and eye the rectangle of cloth, silently debating. In the next he brought the blood stained cloth to his face where it clung to his sweat damp skin. He inhaled, taking in the scent. Long fingers gathered the cloth into his palm, leaving his mouth free to pant. On the next inhale Q’s mouth dropped open wide, tongue writhing. His teeth, all of which were a very pale green and viciously pointed, were connected with tendrils of saliva as Q mewled and inhaled the scent of Bond’s blood. Another vicious squeeze was required to keep the older agent from emptying into his pants. But _damn!_

Bond was still lamenting his inability to watch how Q’s tentacles filled the young man's hole, when a minor miracle happened.

Q pulled the cloth from his nose, chest heaving, cock jumping. Quickly he shifted so that he had one thigh on either side of the wide bench, the metal cutting into the flesh of his calves as he made the stretch. The bars indented the flushed planes of his thighs as Q leant forward slightly. This new angle gave James the view he’d been craving. The crease of Q’s arse was only slightly flushed and purple, a light lilac that was out of place against the intensity displayed by rest of his body. The quivering pucker of his hole though...Bond licked his lips, before stuffing his fist back into his mouth, free hand clenching and loosening around the bulge of his cock. The pucker glinted wetly until the lights of the change room, coated in the same viscous liquid that dipped from Q’s tentacles. One appendage slithered down Q’s back, over and around the slight mound of his arse where it bunched against his tailbone. The tip circled the pucker once, twice, before gently pressing one pointed tip against the muscle. Q’s head dropped and he braced himself on his forearms against the bars. He keened at the teasing touch, rocking slightly. The vibrant flush of his balls peeked out between the bars and Bond could see the sack tightening in time with the fluttering of Q’s hole. The second tentacle joined the first and together they circled and teased the ring of muscle, dripping fluid and playing a sinful game.

Finally, unable to take any more, Q sobbed. The tentacles pointed and in one great thrust, ran home. Q screamed again, a broken sound of desperation that made the grip James had on his cock border on painful. He couldn’t last, he couldn’t, no matter how he wanted to watch his Quartermaster come from smothering himself in the scent of Bond’s blood, fucking into himself with hard, quick thrusts. James gave in and undid his belt and flies, stuffing his hand into his pants and pulling the engorged, dripping length of his cock free. The rivulets of precum coating his dick meant he didn’t need spit to smoothen his strokes. James didn’t take his eyes off of Q, alternating between the rough fucking of darkly coloured tentacles between two pale globes and the sweat dampened eyelashes that fluttered with each breath Q took through his stained handkerchief. It only took a handful of strokes before James was coming, hard and fast with an intensity that brought motes of black to his vision. His come coated the edge of the lockers and floor, a few spurts actually flinging far enough to splatter against the quivering mounds of Q’s arse. Christ, he hadn’t realized how close he’d been standing. James stifled a moan and milked his cock until there was nothing left, gently petting the oversensitive flesh even after.

Surprisingly, Q followed not long after. He threw his head back, appendages tugging the dark length of his cock with a viciousness that Bond understood fully, and continuing to abuse the pebbles nubs of his nipples. Both hands slammed down onto the bars of the bench, still clenching the cloth. Q howled this time as the pair of tentacles fucking into his abused hole shifted, more of the lengths than Bond had thought possible disappearing into the stretched emerald hole. Jets of creamy fluid flew from the slit of the young man’s cock, some coating the bars, others coming up to mark his chin and chest as Q rolled his hips to all but sit on the tentacles buried inside, forcing them deeper.

“J- ** _James!_** ”

...Oh **_fuck_**...

Bond took a moment to burn that image into his memory before tucking his spent cock back into his trousers and running like a coward. He needed time to think on this. His spent cock twitched in interest and his mouth turned up in a half grimace, half smirk; correction, he needed a _lot_ of time to think on this.

 


End file.
